Hold On
by Diary
Summary: AU. The UU church has a group for teenagers thirteen-to-nineteen who can come, no matter what their religion, if they have a problem and need to talk about it in a safe place. WIP.


Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.

* * *

It's been a shitty day, and Sam can't stand the thought of going home.

Sighing, he sits down at S's table.

She looks up from her book, sees it's him, and gives a small smile. "You okay, chico?"

He doesn't know her real name, though he blabbed his the first time they talked. She's Latina, petite, and often wears her hair in a ponytail. Every day at five, she comes in, orders a soda, and reads her book.

"No," he answers, too tired for his usual defensive retorts.

The money he made today will really help. Stevie and Stacie are getting to where they don't seem to be hungry all the time, and if Stacie needs bigger clothes soon, she'll be able to pick out some nice ones at a store with smiling salespeople rather than the holier-than-thou church people looking at them like they're dirt as they hand over ill-fitting, shabby clothing.

Sam's heard his parents talking about how his father's church use to bust their asses trying to help people who needed it, and now, it seems like churches are too concerned with judging, only doling out true help to those who meet their high standards.

He's heard Gene Rodenberry didn't believe in God, and that's always disappointed him, but lately, he can't say he blames the guy. He still believes, he's just not sure if God deserves people praising him.

Today, a woman touched him in the one place that's off-limits, and it didn't go further, but he still feels shivery inside, fear and guilt and confusion making his head hurt.

"Wanna split an order of fries?"

"Yeah," he says, realising that does actually sound like an okay idea. "Thanks, S."

She knows he's only seventeen, and he knows she likes girls. Occasionally, she'll tell him about this group she goes to, telling him he's welcome to come. It doesn't sound like a cult or anything. The UU church has a group for teenagers thirteen-to-nineteen who can come, no matter what their religion, if they have a problem and need to talk about it in a safe place.

Nodding, she flags down one of the servers.

…

"You're destructing," she says, licking salt off her fingers.

"I'm fine."

"Uh-huh. I was a primo bitch. I mean, like alpha. Do you know how easy it is to make people cry? I do."

"Okay," he says, not sure if he can see S, a sarcastic but cool girl, as a bully.

"Yeah," she says, sighing. "Anyway, I got good at seeing who was and wasn't destructing. Made it easier to pick victims."

"Is that what you're doing?"

"No," she promises, digging another fry into the ketchup. "I'm mostly reformed, now."

"I'm not sure if I should be relieved or terrified."

Shrugging, she says, "You need to get out."

"It isn't that simple."

S doesn't answer right away. Finally, she says, "Go with me tomorrow. Tell your parents whatever. It'll only last an hour or two, and maybe it'll help you figure something out."

"Fine," Sam agrees.

At least, if it is a cult, maybe the publicity will help his parents be able to take care of Stevie and Stacie without the judge-y church.

…

"We have someone new today," the- Sam's not sure what he is -guy announces. "I'm Will Schuester, but everyone's free to call me Will or Mr Schue. Would you like to introduce yourself?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam says, trying not to squirm. "I'm Sam. Sam I Am, but I don't like green eggs and ham."

There's some laughter, and beside him, S says, "He also has zero game, and pay no attention to the fact I'm his ride. That's absolutely not proof that I know and/or associate with him."

"Do you feel like telling us why you're here?"

Sam starts to shake his head, only to feel S smacking the back of his head.

"Santana-"

"He's just afraid of his parents finding out," she says. "Go on, chico. I promise nothing goes past this room."

"Um, a little over a year ago, my dad lost his job, and my mom hasn't worked since she got pregnant with me. I have two baby siblings. Stevie and Stacie. Things got really bad. My mom managed to get a job as a waitress at this café, but my dad's been searching for a job for a long time. I was delivering pizzas, and he finally got one. But it still wasn't enough. A few months ago, I got a job as a stripper. They don't know. I told them I quit working at the pizza place and got a job at DQ, which they think is paying a lot better. And S thinks I'm destructing."

"That sounds remarkably like Puck," a plump, auburn haired girl with glasses remarks.

"Lucy," Will scolds, gently.

"It kind of does," another girl points out, giving Sam a small smile. She's a chubby black girl with her hair in an afro. "Nice to meet you, Sam. I'm Mercedes Jones, and the crazy girl who's adopted you is Santana Lopez."

Rolling her eyes, S blows a kiss to Mercedes.

"Lucy Fabray," the auburn girl says, touching a cross hanging from her neck. "When I don't take my medication, I'm a bombshell, but I'm also a psycho bitch."

"Mike Chang," an Asian boy says, reaching over to shake Sam's hand. "Um, I don't have any real problems, I guess. My parents, especially my dad, expect a lot out of me, and I just need to be around people who don't expect anything every now and then."

"Artie," a boy in a wheelchair says. "My parents be making me come here."

"Lauren Zizes," a large girl with glasses and a scowling face says. "I'm sort of in the same boat as Artie and Mike."

"Is there anything we can do to help, Sam?" Will asks.

Shaking his head, Sam says, "No, I don't think so. I just thought maybe-"

Nodding, Will says, "This is a safe place. I'll give you my number. If you ever need anything, no matter what the time, call me. And if there's anything we can do to help, tell us."

"Thanks," he says.

The rest of the meeting somehow ends up with everyone arguing and taking sides over whether Michael Jackson or some guy whose name Sam can't pronounce is the true king of pop. He, S, and Mike are neutral, while Artie and Mercedes are Team Jackson, and Lucy and Lauren are Team Other Guy. Lucy (hopefully) jokes about performing an exorcism, and Lauren brings up the whole might-have-hurt-little-kids thing.

…

"Sometimes, there's more people," S tells him as she drives him home.

"So, why do you go? I mean, it's not just being a lesbian, is it?"

"Maybe someday, I'll tell you," she answers.

…

The next time he goes, he sees Lauren casually has an arm across Mercedes's chest, palm against the wall, and an Asian girl is sitting in Mercedes's lap, playing with her hair, both ignoring her very obvious distress.

"Uh-" He looks over at S.

She shakes her head. "It's for the best, chico."

He's not sure how restraining someone can be for the best, but Will comes in, causing Mercedes to say, "Mr Schue, make them let me go!"

"Guys, let Mercedes go," Will says, sitting down. "Mercedes, do you want to talk about-"

She's out the door before he can finish.

"Everybody stay," Will orders as the girls start to stand up. "None of us like this, but-"

"But she's going to get irreversibly sick," the Asian girl snaps. "No offence, Mr Schue, but your non-interference is only good sometimes! We were helping her."

"Can I go," a boy asks, startling Sam, who hadn't seen him.

"No," everyone but Sam says, none of them looking at him.

"Just kill me, now," the boy mutters, and Sam watches in terror as, suddenly, Mike and Lucy are holding S back as she screams in Spanish.

"David, your words matter," Will says, rubbing his head.

"How am I supposed to get over what happened if no one will let it go? It's a freaking figure of speech."

Sam leans back just in time to miss being hit by one of S's shoes.

"Santana! Sit down, and be quiet!"

The other shoes flies, and she stops yelling. "Fine," she grits out, looking at the David boy as if he's a death eater and she's Harry Potter, ready to hex his ass.

Yeah, Stevie's gotten real into Harry Potter, lately.

"I'll be in the car," she tells him. "Later."

…

"Go back."

"What's going on?"

She sighs, ignoring the tears falling down her face. "Dave Karofsky. Dressed up, wrapped a belt around his neck, and thank God, his dad came home early, saw his truck in the driveway. I- had something to do with all of that."

"Oh," he says, quietly.

"Yeah," she says, laughing, bitterly. "Like I said. Primo bitch."

"What's the deal with Mercedes," he inquires, wondering when this is supposed to start helping him. He already knew there were people worse off than him.

"She might have an eating disorder. She won't go a doctor, but yeah. There are definitely issues in that department. So, why aren't you trying to find a ride with someone else?"

"What happened?"

Sniffling, she puts her head against the steering wheel. Carefully, he reaches over and puts his hand on her shoulder.

"I wanted to be Prom Queen. And I learned a secret about him, and I blackmailed him into pretending to be my boyfriend and running with me. He won, I didn't, and it wasn't his fault, but I was so freaking angry that I lashed out. I made him so afraid, afraid I'd tell everyone, his best friend, his parents, the hockey and football team, that he didn't show up for school the next day. He never showed up. Finally, his dad came to my house and told me what happened, begged me to explain why his son would do such a thing."

Sitting up, eyes closed, she shakes her head. "Maybe I shouldn't have told him, but I did. Now, Dave hates me, and I live in terror every day that-" She stops, fresh sobs emerging.

"Oh," he says. "Wow."

Finally, he says, "I don't hate you. Obviously, not cool, what you did. But I just want you to know that I don't hate you."

…

"Are you sure this won't be a problem, honey?"

"Totally," Sam answers. "I get, like, a week's worth of personal days."

It's Stevie's big t-ball game tonight, and neither parent can be there. One good thing about stripping, he supposes, is he does have more leeway to make his own hours than he does at a regular job.

She kisses him. "Thank you, baby. It won't be long before we get completely back on our feet. I promise. You can focus on school and sports, full-time, and when you finish college, the experience you had working will look good on your résumé."

"Sure," he says, forcing a smile.

…

After the game, he takes Stevie and Stacie to a nearby Chinese restaurant, ordering the buffet.

"You'll win next time," he promises Stevie.

"I wanted to win this time," Stevie mutters, stabbing his chicken.

"I know, buddy," he says, reaching over to pat him.

As he does, he looks across the room and sees Mercedes. "Hey, little aliens," he says, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he recognises the look on her face, "do you want to meet a friend of mine from the church thing I've been going to?"

He's told his family he's been going to a study group with some of S's friends.

That perks Stevie up, and Stacie claps.

Picking her up and taking Stevie's hand, they walk over. "Hey, Mercedes," he says as she starts to get up.

She jumps slightly, and he says, "Sorry. I saw you, and these two have been wanting to meet some of my friends. Remember: They're secretly out to destroy me; listen to nothing they tell you."

"Sammy," Stacie scolds, tugging his hair. "Be a good big brother, or we'll hide your blue alien DVDs."

"See," he loudly whispers to Mercedes, "evil."

Mercedes laughs, looking a little confused, and Stevie takes that as an invitation to crawl up onto her lap. "I'm Stevie Evans, and that's Stacie."

"Nice to meet you, Mister Stevie," she says, giving him a soft smile. He's surprised to see how pretty she is. She certainly doesn't have an ugly face, but until, she's come across as a Plain Jane. "And Miss Stacie."

"Would you like to join us?"

"Uh, actually," Mercedes says, gently getting Stevie off her, "I was just leaving. It was nice to meet y'all, though, and to see you, Sam."

Sam does the only thing he can think of: He breaks out his Shawn Spencer impression, which causes all three to laugh.

"What in the world was that," Mercedes asks as both the younger Evans grab her hands and lead her to their table.

"Shawn Spencer," he tells her, sitting down. "From Psych? Sorry. I like doing impressions," he explains.

"Got anymore," she asks, shocking him.

He notices she's also shocked his brother and sister, and he sticks his tongue out at the traitors.

He keeps the three of them laughing until his brother and sister declare themselves full. "Can we walk you to your car, Miss Jones?"

"Sure," she says, still grinning. She picks up Stevie, who cuddles against her, while he takes Stacie's hand.

…

At the next meeting, Mercedes sits down next to him while S and David are attempting to kill one another. The latter might be a boy, a football player, and over two-hundred pounds, but S has being flexible and possibly being a Potential going for her.

"Hey," he says, smiling at Mercedes. "I've been working on my Alan Rickman impression; want to hear it?"

"That'd be great," she says, smiling.

Later, she says, "Your little brother and sister are adorable. Are they getting regular dental care? My dad's a dentist, and I can get you some forms to-"

"No," he says, immediately. "Um, thanks, but no."

Sighing, she reaches over to touch his hand. "Look, Sam, you're going above and beyond for your family. But you can't do everything, and there's no shame in accepting help. My dad loves kids, and he isn't going to judge you or your parents."

"I'll see if I can sell it to my parents without revealing anything."

"Good," she says, squeezing his hand.

…

Even though group is another thing he has tell half-truths about, it does make things better.

Even though everyone is screwed up, they're also normal, and since he isn't making any friends at his new school, that's nice, to be around other teenagers who like him. The Asian girl, Tina Cohen-Chang, only comes sometimes; she has issues with being adopted. Once, a petite brunette came in and said her name was Rachel and that she was going to be on Broadway someday. She hasn't been back since, but he has a feeling she'll reappear at some point.

About month since he started coming, two new boys appear. Kurt Hummel and Finn Hudson, and they absolutely despise one another.

"I have so many better things I could be doing," Kurt announces, reminding Sam of Emma Frost as he glares.

Finn rolls his eyes. "It's your fault Mom and Burt are making us be here, dude."

"Don't call me that," Kurt snaps. "Your homophobia isn't my problem."

"I don't have a problem with gay dudes, I have a problem with stalkers!"

"Guys," Will says, "why don't we talk about this in a calm, logical manner?"

Sam's more interested in the way David is obviously trying very hard not to look at Kurt. Leaning over, he whispers to Mike, "Hey, want to invite the new boys to play basketball? I call skin."

He, David, and Mike have taken to playing basketball every now and then, with Artie being the ref. Sometimes, Lauren joins in, but she prefers kicking their asses at running around the neighbourhood.

Nearby, S smirks at him before looking at David and Kurt.

The girl is definitely a Potential, he decides.

"I've said I'm sorry," Kurt snaps, bringing Sam's focus back to the conversation.

"No, you haven't. You don't care how uncomfortable you made me. I'm sorry I said that word, du- Kurt, but don't act like I just said because you stole the last French fry or something."

"I don't eat French fries."

"Not the point."

This goes on for several minutes, and from what Sam can gather, Finn used the f-word that isn't supposed to be used towards gay people, but it sort of sounds like it came out after Kurt had made Finn feel like Sam sometimes does with certain customers. In the past, he'd definitely blame Finn completely, because that word isn't cool, no matter how uncomfortable a person is, but now, he knows about S and David. Sometimes, people do really bad things because they're in a bad place and don't fully understand just how bad what they're doing is. Then, they realise it, and they go on redemption quests.

"Guys, why don't we play some basketball," Mike interrupts, apparently deciding the arguing isn't going to get anywhere today. "Sam's already called skin."

"I prefer other forms of physical activities," Kurt says.

"You can referee with me," Artie offers. "Or do cheering with Mercedes, Lucy, and S."

Sam represses a groan. He'd forgot those two usually cheer. Usually, he's all for it, because Mercedes has a habit of shaking her bottom, which has made an appearance in his dreams several times already, and Lucy usually takes her glasses off, making her awesome eyes so much easier to see. S is immune, because while she's hot and scarily flexible, she's also his girl-bro.

He's a teenage boy, basically, who often ends up losing, because he's too busy watching them than keeping his head in the game. He'd prefer not to lose against Finn, or at least, not without a good fight.

"I'm not playing."

Instinctively, Sam reaches over to wrap his hand around David's wrist. No one talks about it, except S, sometimes, but yeah, David Karofsky is gay. He goes on the occasional dates with girls (all of which S personally chooses), because he doesn't want anyone at the school he and S go to knowing. Mostly, he seems okay, but he has some problems with him and the guys in the group touching. According to S, he doesn't have any problems with that at school, but he really doesn't want anyone here to think he's interested in them.

Watching his watch, Sam looks up after sixty seconds. "Still straight, still cool if you're not," he says, grinning.

Sighing, David says, "Fine, but I'm playing shirt."

"At least, change into your letterman shirt," Mercedes advises. "You don't want to get that shirt all sweaty."

Mercedes is awesome.

Kurt may or may not go for David, but if he does, David in a tight, arm-barring shirt might be even more effective than him playing shirtless.

"Let's go, then," Sam says, standing up and clasping hands with Mike. "Good luck, man. You and the new guy are going to need it."

"We won't," Mike answers, giving a smug grin.

They all go outside, him and the others getting in position on the court while S, Mercedes, and Lucy get ready to cheer and everyone else finds a place to sit and watch. They start playing, and as he makes a basket, Sam has a brief moment of realisation: I'm seveteen, I have people who care for me, and if I don't pay too much attention to Mercedes's bottom, I might just win this game.

He decides that he's going to try to hold onto that feeling for as long as he can.


End file.
